


Amy (Amelia) Pond, This Is (Was) (Will Be) Your Life

by HawkMoth



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: s03e15 Coda, Gen, Written in 2010
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:06:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawkMoth/pseuds/HawkMoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy, through the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amy (Amelia) Pond, This Is (Was) (Will Be) Your Life

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into writing New Who. My first dive back in DW fiction after a 25-year hiatus. Written in April 2010. (Obviously, I fell for Eleven in a way I never did for Nine or Ten.)

Amy Pond, the girl who waited.

You never expected (accepted) that five minutes would last forever.

******

Aunt Sharon didn't want explanations at half six in the morning. She wanted the mess cleaned up and the food replaced out of your so-called pocket money. If you said anything that made any kind of sense she wasn't listening.

Later, you were still waiting. You made toys and played games which were no substitute for the real (unreal) thing--man. Strangest person you ever met, and the most interesting. Playing games, and you got Rory to play along, because if there was a word for Rory, it was "reliable." (Years on, you might have said "predictable.")

After a while, the games weren't enough, so you started acting up, acting out and saying things that grown-up people found worrisome. Then there were too many questions and no good answers. The whole village was in a panic about strangers and child-snatchers and who knows what. In school, some kids weren't just ignoring you, they started avoiding you, and the teachers were pulling faces and making notes. 

Not too much later, still waiting, you found yourself in therapy.

(And did the crack in the wall ever really go away, or had it just moved inside your head? Were you looking over your shoulder on the upstairs landing? Still hearing voices? In your dreams, could you hear him promise to come back?)

*****

"It's all new," he says. "I'm new, too. Isn't it fantastic?" He pats the TARDIS wall, and did he just call the box sexy? "I have to find where everything is," he says, and he's off, telling you to look around and let him know what you find.

Madman with a box. There are boxes in the endless blue box, rooms you won't find later when you want to show him. Rooms where you just know other people (people like you?) must have lived, spent time, travelling with the Doctor. (Not this Doctor. Some other madman who got into some kind of trouble before this one crashed into your garden shed.) And where's the library with the built-in swimming pool?

But he also said something about a wardrobe, and you really should change your clothes. He did, after all, changing from your Raggedy Doctor into someone else. Someone who could tell aliens to run away and they listened.

Before you can find the wardrobe, he's back, grinning like mad. He grabs your hand and drags you along, still in your nightie. "Just wait till I show you how real this is!" is all he says.

Madman with a box. Did you ever really stop believing?

*****

Twelve years, four psychiatrists, and some possibly unfortunate life-style choices later, what's the first thing you do when he finally comes back?

Cricket bat to the head. A good smack now and ask questions later.

(You can learn a lot about police procedure when there's a WPC or even a detective sergeant following you at a not-so-discreet distance for two or three years. There were other strange stories in the news, but by the time of psychiatrist Number Three, things had settled down. A bit.)

He messed about with your head, so now you can do it him, a captive audience. Listen to him without really hearing, look around without really seeing, until it's almost to late to really understand the urgency in his voice. Run when he tells you to, follow where he leads, don't wander off.

(The man on the landing, the growls, the _teeth_ , run, _run_ ; try to tell him what a hell you've been through, try to understand what the voice from the wall is saying now; beneath it all some part of you wonders: does he still like fish custard? If your twelve years equals his five minutes does it really matter?)

And none of it matters during twenty minutes of utter chaos.

*****

He saved the world. You and Rory and other people in other places helped, even Jeff. It almost makes up for two more years of waiting.

(Things werent't quite the same in Leadworth afterward. People died, after all. And strangers who weren't quite police and weren't quite military came and asked a lot of questions. Jeff got a job, but not even his Gran knows what it is. But things eventually returned to normal as the village recovered and moved on.) 

Two years of moving on, and making plans. You do have a future.

But the sound of the box and the wind from nowhere are still in your head, in your blood, infused in every inch of who you are. (Who you were. Who you're going to be.) 

He's back, to keep his promise. What's supposed to happen tomorrow becomes just stuff.

You waited and believed and endured. This was meant to be.

*****

He's a lonely traveller, in need of company. So what if someone else came before you? That was another time, a different him. Maybe he'll tell you about them. Maybe he won't. There are other things he wants to share--worlds and time and the universe and so much more than you imagined in those long-ago games.

He came back.

The world was saved.

So were you.

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, no mention of Mels, but I think the story still works.


End file.
